


Act of Contrition

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, What-If, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After lying to his Inspector, James feels the need to pay penance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ep what-if to _LIfe Born of Fire_. With thanks, as always, to the stellar Lindenharp for BRing.

The morning after the fire, Robbie finally gets to the station at around ten. Wearily, he drags himself up the stairs – his back’s giving him gip after carrying twelve stone of lanky sergeant out of a burning house – and to the office. It’s almost a shock to find it empty. 

But it couldn’t be anything else: Hathaway’s still in hospital. He’s being discharged later this morning, once the doctor’s made her rounds and confirmed that he’s ready to go home. Robbie’s arranged for a uniform to drive Hathaway back to his flat. He’d stayed at the hospital himself only long enough to see the bloke awake and suffering no major ill-effects from the attempt on his life.

It’s not that he wouldn’t drive Hathaway home himself, and part of him wants to, just to reassure himself that the bloke’s suffered no irreparable harm from his idiocy, but it wouldn’t be a good idea. They still need to sort out what happened – and Robbie needs to decide what he’s going to do about it and how much he’ll tell Innocent. He and Hathaway need to have it out, draw a line under the incident and set out ground rules for their future working relationship. But it’s too soon for that yet. Robbie needs time for his anger, and the fear that he’d lost his sergeant to the fire, to settle. And Hathaway needs time to recover from the drugging and smoke inhalation. 

Maybe tomorrow. That would be good timing – Hathaway’s been signed off work for two days. He’ll go over to the lad’s flat tomorrow evening and they can talk, away from the office, sort it all out. 

In the meantime, there are reports to write, and no sergeant here to write them. Robbie sighs, pushes aside the image in his head of James waking up, the smile on his face and his murmur of “ _You saved me_ ,” and pulls up a new document on his computer.

 

***

He’s finished the first draft of the case report by mid-afternoon, many deletions and rewritings later. It’s not that he wants to conceal the truth, but there’s no need to dump Hathaway in it, or reveal what’s clearly something very personal to him, by stating that he lied in response to direct questions or outlining exactly how his actions apparently contributed to Will McEwan’s suicide.

Just as he’s stretching and considering going to make a cuppa, a beep alerts him to an email. He switches windows on the computer. The new mail is from james.hathaway@btinternet.com, and the subject-line is _Apology_. 

Robbie sighs. Couldn’t the man have let it lie for a bit? Surely he realised that his governor would be in touch sooner or later?

He clicks on the email anyway. Might as well see what the stupid sod’s got to say for himself.

_Sir,_

_While I realise that it would be more professional and courteous to do this face to face, I am cognisant of the fact that the last time we talked you told me that you didn’t want to see me. As such, I am respecting your wishes._

_I owe you an apology. The words themselves are grossly inadequate, but please believe that I mean them with more sincerity than anything I have ever said to you. My lies and withholding of the truth damaged the investigation but, far worse than that, they destroyed your trust in me. I lied to **you** , which I know was by far my most grievous offence._

_It would be completely understandable if you don’t believe me now either, but I need to tell you that working as your sergeant has been a privilege, albeit one I have abused. You have been the best governor I could have hoped for – far better than I deserved – and I am immensely grateful for your patient teaching, the times you’ve defended me, and for all I have learned from you._

_I have notified Chief Superintendent Innocent of my intention to resign from the Force, although if it’s your intention to institute disciplinary proceedings against me – as you should – I am willing to submit to dismissal instead._

_Sincerely,_

_James Hathaway_

 

Robbie has to read it twice before the contents sink in, and then he shoves his chair back in fury. “Sodding _hell_! Stupid bloody _moron_!”

Hathaway offering to resign itself isn’t the problem – it’s only to be expected given the lad’s habit of self-abasement, most likely based on that Catholic guilt complex of his. It’s the fact that he’s already contacted Innocent. That means that all the careful editing Robbie put into the report, all his plans to protect Hathaway from the full consequences of his actions, have been blown out of the water. 

Now he has to talk to Innocent and convince her to ignore whatever it is that Hathaway’s been insane enough to say to her.

Just as he gets to his feet, the door of his office is pushed open and the Chief Superintendent herself appears in the doorway.

“Robbie, I’ve just had the most extraordinary email from Sergeant Hathaway.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Well, I don’t know exactly what he said, but I know he emailed you. Sent me an email too.”

Innocent looks at him, clearly waiting for more, but he stays silent. Without knowing exactly what James said to Innocent, that’s the better strategy for now.

She breaks the silence first. “Lewis, you know that I don’t normally interfere in the working relationship between an inspector and his or her bagman. That’s something they need to work out for themselves. But if a serious breach of regulations is at issue, and Hathaway’s email strongly suggests that it is...?”

Robbie rubs his eyebrow, delaying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t think bein’ stupid is grounds for dismissal, ma’am. Or resignation.”

Innocent frowns, moving to lean against the wall with her arms folded. “You’re telling me that’s all it was? Then why is Hathaway claiming otherwise?”

“Because he’s bein’ stupid. Yeah, he made a mistake, an’ I was going to talk to him about it before he came back to work, but I didn’t realise he was going to do this.” Robbie waves vaguely at his computer. 

His clear hint that Innocent should just pretend she never received Hathaway’s email and leave matters to him doesn’t work. She raises an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “What exactly did he do, Lewis? And is this why the two of you were at outs yesterday?”

“Yes,” he admits. “But we would’ve sorted it. Like I said, I was gonna talk to him, make sure it didn’t happen again.” Her narrow-eyed stare makes clear he’s not going to get away with leaving it at that. Resigned, Robbie continues, “You know that Will McEwan and Hathaway were friends from school.” Innocent nods. “When Hathaway was still training to be a priest, Will came to him and asked his advice about sexual orientation. Hathaway gave him the standard conservative religious position. Will apparently took it to heart.” That’s as much as Innocent needs to know.

“And Hathaway didn’t tell you this.” It’s not a question.

“Not until yesterday afternoon. It explains why he was a target, of course,” Robbie continues, hoping to distract Innocent by reminding her that James was almost the fourth and final victim of Zoe/Feardorcha’s revenge killing spree. 

She’s not to be distracted. “Did his withholding information affect the investigation?” Robbie’s about to answer when she holds up a hand. “I want the truth, Robbie. No protecting him.”

“I know.” And, yes, he will protect Hathaway, but not by lying. He’s had time to think this through and to conclude that, although it would undoubtedly have helped to know earlier what The Garden was, it wouldn’t have led to solving the case any sooner. James didn’t know who the likely murder victims would be, so there was no way that they could have protected them. And, though he hasn’t yet had a chance to ask his sergeant, he’s pretty certain that Hathaway didn’t know that Zoe Kenneth was Feardorcha Phelan.

Even without a negative impact on the case, however, Innocent would certainly consider that Hathaway lying to his governor over and over about knowing more than he’d admitted is a sackable offence. She doesn’t need to know that, though. Yes, it was stupid of Hathaway. Yes, he is personally angry and offended by Hathaway’s lies. But does the bloke need to have his career destroyed over it? 

No. No, he doesn’t.

“No, ma’am,” he says, meeting Innocent’s gaze. “I don’t believe it did. If he’d told me sooner, it wouldn’t have led me either to any of the victims or to the murderer.”

She studies him in silence for close to a minutes, then nods. “And you were planning to deal with this yourself, rather than bringing it to my attention?”

“I hadn’t decided.” It’s mostly true. His preferred course of action was to deal with it himself, but it would have depended on Hathaway’s reaction during the discussion he’d intended to have with his sergeant.

Innocent tilts her head to the side. “And you don’t feel that a detective sergeant withholding information germane to a current enquiry is something that merits formal disciplinary action? Demotion, if not dismissal?”

Robbie stretches his back wearily. “If it had affected the case, yeah. Of course. But it didn’t, and I believe Hathaway would have told me sooner if it would have made a difference. Doesn’t mean I was just gonna let it go, though!”

Her direct stare is unnerving – but of course it’s what she intends, and he could strangle Hathaway for leaving him open to this. 

“So, what? You’d have given him a bollocking and left it at that?”

“And a warning that if it happened again I would take it to you – assuming he took proper responsibility for his actions. If he didn’t, then I wouldn’t have left it at that. Though, judging by his emails to the two of us, he’s taking responsibility to the point where he thinks he needs to resign. But my reaction’s hypothetical, ma’am, since I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, given he’s recovering from smoke inhalation and bein’ drugged!”

Which, of course, is very probably affecting the decisions he’s making, as well. Could be partly why he sent those stupid emails.

Innocent sighs. “I am aware of that, Robbie. All right. I’ll leave it with you – _for now_. And assuming that you recommend no disciplinary action and I accept that and your recommendation to ignore Hathaway’s stated intent to resign, what then? Should I assign him to another inspector?”

Damn it. That’s the one question he’s not ready to answer yet. “Can that wait until after I talk to him, ma’am?”

She nods. “That’s probably the first sensible thing you’ve said in this conversation, Inspector.” 

He refuses to rise to the criticism in her tone. “Hathaway’s a good copper, ma’am. I’ve never had any cause to complain about him before now. Yeah, you’ve pulled us up on a couple of things, and I take equal responsibility for those ‘cause I was with him when they happened. This is out of character, and I don’t think it’s fair to ruin a decent officer’s career because of one bad decision.”

She straightens. “All right. I’ll leave it in your hands for now, but I want a full report after you’ve spoken to him, and I’ll want to see the two of you once he’s back at work – assuming you want to keep him as your sergeant.”

Robbie releases a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”

 

***

Half an hour later – the sooner he sorts this mess out the better – Robbie pulls up outside Hathaway’s flat. 

Just as he thinks he’s not going to get an answer, the door’s opened. His sergeant, dressed in tight jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that make him look about sixteen, looks out at him. Pale-faced – which makes the cut on his cheekbone appear even more livid – Hathaway stands and just stares at him for a long moment without saying anything, astonishment clear in his eyes.

“Sir! I didn’t expect– Didn’t you get my email?” Hathaway says finally.

“Oh, I got it, all right,” Robbie says grimly, stepping forward and giving Hathaway no choice but to let him in. “Innocent got the one you sent her, too.”

“Then I don’t understand...” Hathaway frowns, looking bemused. “What are you doing here?”

Robbie gives him a stern look. “Don’t you think pulling your arse out of the fire last night was enough, Sergeant? Obviously you didn’t, since I’m having to do it again today.”

He glances around the flat, the compulsive habit of a trained detective. Then he stills and looks around again. An open packet of cigarettes spilled over the coffee-table, several of the cigarettes shredded. No smell of nicotine in the flat, however. Dirty dishes on the kitchen counter, but they’re at least a day old – James hasn’t eaten since coming home from hospital, unless he ate something that didn’t require crockery. 

And what’s wrong with the temperature in the flat? It’s bloody freezing in here.

Abruptly, he reaches for Hathaway, grabbing the bloke’s wrist. Yes – freezing. 

“What are you doin’ to yourself?” he snaps, exasperated. “Where’s your thermostat?”

“Sir–” James begins, a faint protest.

But Robbie’s seen what he’s looking for. “Ah, just sit down, will you? You’re no use to man nor beast at the moment.” Ignoring Hathaway, he examines the thermostat. The heating’s off, and it’s barely nineteen degrees in the flat. He flips it on, turning the setting to twenty-three, and strides into the kitchen to fill the kettle. “Got any soup?” he asks, turning briefly to look at his sergeant, who’s still standing by the coffee-table, looking unhappy. 

Hathaway doesn’t answer immediately, so Robbie starts searching through cupboards, coming up lucky on his third attempt. A can of Baxter’s Tomato and Mediterranean Herb. That’ll do.

“Sir, this really isn’t necessary,” James protests as Robbie rummages for a can-opener.

“Don’t recall asking for your opinion, Sergeant,” he responds curtly, pouring the soup into a bowl and finding a plastic dish to cover it with. Three minutes in the microwave, stir, then another two minutes - that should do it.

He carries the soup over to the small kitchen counter, then gives Hathaway a stern glare. “Sit.” 

He’s expecting an argument, but Hathaway comes over and sits on the stool, then plays with the soup. Robbie sighs. “Do I need to spoon-feed you an’ all?”

Hathaway’s head jerks up. “I didn’t ask you to-” He breaks off, but not before Robbie’s heard the resentment in his voice.

“No, go on.” He doesn’t take his eyes off his sergeant, lips thin. “Finish what you were going to say.”

Hathaway stares down at the counter. “No. You’ve got every right to give me another bollocking. I suppose my email was an attempt to avoid it, but it’s your prerogative.”

“Oh, for...” Robbie sighs, exasperated. “I didn’t come here to shout at you again.” He halts, taking a second to examine his motives. “All right, I probably did. Right now, I’m more pissed off about you actin’ the bloody martyr.”

“What?” Hathaway’s voice is low and dangerous. “I think I’m entitled to set the temperature to whatever level I want in my own flat. And not to eat if I’m not hungry.”

Courageous speech, Robbie thinks – but ruined by the growling of the bloke’s stomach as he finishes.

Robbie stifles a smirk and waves at the soup-bowl. “Just shut up and eat, man.”

Hathaway has the grace to look faintly abashed as he meets Robbie’s gaze for a moment, then begins to eat.

 

***

Robbie makes tea while Hathaway eats, then once his sergeant’s scraped the bowl clean he carries the mugs to the coffee-table. He’s damn well going to be comfortable while he talks.

Hathaway carries the soup-bowl to the sink, then comes back to the living area. “Can I get you some biscuits, sir?” He’s rigidly formal and polite; unrecognisable as the distraught young man who’d pleaded with him in New College Lane yesterday.

“No. Sit.” Robbie’s claimed the armchair; Hathaway takes the sofa.

“I meant what I said in my email, sir,” Hathaway says immediately, a pre-emptive strike. “I do apologise for my actions. I... regret very much that I betrayed your trust in me.”

“Yeah, got that.” Robbie’s tone is curt; he’s not going to ease up just yet. “What I did not get from your email is why you lied. Or whether you’d do it again.”

The only response to his questions is silence. Robbie sits with his gaze fixed on the younger man, expression impassive. He’s had far more experience than Hathaway in waiting out uncooperative suspects, after all.

Eventually, Hathaway concedes. “I was... ashamed,” he begins, his voice quiet. His hands are twisting on his lap. “What I said to Will – the lack of compassion I showed, the arrogance I demonstrated... blinding myself to my own evil in my rush to judge him.” Hathaway’s clearly quoting someone, but Robbie doesn’t ask. It’s not necessary, and he won’t be distracted. 

“ _The common curse of mankind: folly and ignorance._ I thought I was so clever, but I was just a stupid, prideful idiot parroting what I thought I knew, thought I believed, and I didn’t see what it did to Will – what my appalling bigotry made him do. And I couldn’t tell you because I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to know what I’d done, what a hypocrite I’d been – and that Will’s suicide was my fault.”

As Hathaway falls silent again, Robbie reaches for his tea – he needs a moment or two to decide how to respond. The important issue’s not about James lying to him, not now – he can see why the lad lied, even though it demonstrates a lack of trust in him. The guilt and self-hatred pouring off James right now is much more worrying.

He begins with a gentle question, the way he would when he’s trying to get under an interviewee’s guard. “How well did Will know you?”

Hathaway’s head jerks up in surprise. “We were at school together-”

“And had a row at fourteen after he came out to you, yeah. But you stayed in touch? I mean, he sought you out when you were in the seminary.”

“Yeah. We were never as close, but – yes, we were still friends,” Hathaway agrees.

Robbie sets the trap. “And he knew you were training to be a priest. So you’d say your views weren’t exactly a mystery to him?” 

Surprised blue eyes meet his. “I suppose not, no.”

“So isn’t it possible that Will knew exactly what you’d say when he asked you the question?” 

Hathaway’s sharp intake of breath is enough to confirm to Robbie that he’s had the impact he wanted. 

“Just think about that one for a while, lad. You’re a copper. You know suicide’s never that simple. Anyway, I’m not here to absolve you of your guilt over Will. You’re the only one who can do that.”

Hathaway’s expression changes; no longer the anguished young man and instead completely the obedient, penitent sergeant. “I know. You’re here because of my misconduct on the job. And I haven’t answered your second question: would I lie to you again?” He pauses, clearly considering. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I’d like to be able to assure you that I wouldn’t, but I had no idea before this last week that I would lie to you at all. Not that it matters,” he continues in the kind of polite tone that makes Robbie want to shake him. “It won’t happen again, because I’ve resigned.”

Robbie sighs. “Yeah, an’ that’s another bloody stupid thing you did. Emailing me’s one thing – we can sort it out, even if it takes a while. But emailing Innocent? I had to bloody plead with her to ignore what you said and let me deal with this meself rather than instigating disciplinary proceedings.”

Hathaway blinks. “You shouldn’t have done that, sir. I know I deserve disciplinary action. I thought things might be easier all around if I resigned straight away, though I will understand if that’s not acceptable to you or Innocent.”

It’s taking everything he’s got not to shake the bloke. “Like I told Innocent, you made a stupid mistake. It’s not a sacking – or a resigning – matter. The rest – that you lied to me, an’ that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth and know that I wouldn’t judge you for it – that’s between you and me. It’s got nothing to do with Innocent.”

“No.” Abruptly, Hathaway is implacable. “I realise that, yet again, you’re trying to save me from the consequences of my actions, and it’s more than kind of you, sir. It’s also entirely unnecessary. I know what I did, and I know the consequences. I intend to resign as soon as I can get hold of the official forms.”

“And what I want doesn’t matter?” Robbie’s incredulous.

“I regret to say it, sir, but no.” Hathaway stands. “I appreciate your coming over, and I’m aware that you’ve been very lenient with me, which is far more than I deserve. However, I would prefer to be on my own now.”

He’s being asked to leave. The cocky young git’s throwing him out! 

Of course, he’s got every right to – this is his home, after all. But telling his governor to leave isn’t the best way to advance his career. Which would matter if Hathaway cared about advancing his career, and he’s just announced that he doesn’t.

Robbie stands. “Yeah, I’ll go, if it’s what you want, Sergeant. It’s a shame – after everything that’s happened, I can see you haven’t learnt a thing.” He reaches the door, and then turns back to deliver his parting shot. “You’re still afraid to face the consequences of your actions. Yeah, you can run away again now, if you want – resign from the police, go and find your next career – but sooner or later you’re going to find that you’ll never be able to run away from yourself.” More gently, he adds, hand on the open door, “You’re a good man, James, and a decent copper. When you stop bein’ so hard on yourself, phone me.”

He walks out, closing the door behind him, and the last thing he sees is the stricken, agonised look on his sergeant’s face.

 

***

By the time Robbie gets back to the station, he’s calmed down enough to acknowledge that he has no intention of giving up on Hathaway. Which is fine, except that he needs to find a way of making sure the idiot bloke can’t sabotage himself before Robbie can bring him to his senses.

“Robbie!” 

Damn it. He was hoping to make it back to his office without running into Innocent. Difficult to talk to her without knowing what he’s going to say.

“Well?” she asks as he walks into her office. “Did you manage to talk sense into him?”

He goes for the easy way out. “He’s only just out of hospital, ma’am. Probably still has that bloody sedative in his system, as well as suffering from shock. He’s not in any fit state to make decisions.”

“Ah.” Innocent raises an eyebrow. “He’s being stubborn.”

Robbie sighs and concedes. “He is.”

Innocent studies him in silence for a few moments. “You think I should give him more time to think it over.”

It is what he wants, yes, but how reasonable is it to expect that? “What I think is that the lad’s had a difficult few days. In hindsight, I should have taken him off the case as soon as I realised he knew the bloke who committed suicide.”

“You should have, yes. But that’s not the point at issue here.” Innocent drums her fingers on her desk. “Sergeant Hathaway is an adult and should be expected to behave like one.” Robbie doesn’t comment. He’s already said all he can in Hathaway’s defence; any more would do more harm than good.

“What do you want, Robbie?” Innocent asks abruptly. “Earlier, you said you weren’t sure whether you’d want him transferred to another inspector. I appreciate that you’re doing what any decent inspector would do for his sergeant by trying to save his career, in spite of his own actions, but do you actually want him back on the job?”

Does he? It’s not even a difficult question, despite his hesitation earlier. “Yeah. I do. Like I said, ma’am, he’s a good copper. He’s done an excellent job as me sergeant up until now, and he’s got the potential to go far. I’d hate to see that ruined by a bit of stupidity that’s more than likely the result of grief an’ nearly being killed.” Innocent’s still looking expectantly at him, so he adds, “We work well together, ma’am. I’d prefer to keep things as they are.”

“All right,” she says after another pause. Turning to look at her computer screen, she adds, “From what I understand, he’s been signed off work until the day after tomorrow. He’s got two days of unused lieu time which he has been asked to use up but hasn’t, and the two of you are scheduled for off-duty on Sunday and Monday. That’s five days, Robbie, and if he hasn’t come to his senses by then I really don’t think he’s cut out for the job.”

Robbie slowly exhales. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She inclines her head. “I’ll email him back acknowledging his email and informing him that I don’t expect to see him back here before Tuesday, and if he still feels the same way then I’ll put the process in motion.” Robbie nods approval. “I’ll even tell him I would prefer it if he would reconsider. All right?”

“It’s very generous of you, ma’am.” He gets to his feet, preparing to leave.

“Oh, I’ll expect something in return,” she tells him, tone dry. “How about trying to avoid any complaints about the two of you for the next six months?” 

Robbie pauses on his way out. “I’m sure we can try,” he concedes.

He’s got five days, which is better than he’d hoped for. Now he just has to find a way to knock some sense into Hathaway before Tuesday.

 

***


	2. Restitution

There’s a new case the following day – well, it’s more like the middle of the night when Robbie’s woken by Dispatch. A body’s been found at the bottom of the steps behind Martyrs’ Memorial. It doesn’t take long to figure out that the victim was dumped there after he was murdered – and that, despite uniforms’ best efforts, nobody saw anything.

“It’s right across the road from the bloody Randolph!” Robbie complains when the door-to-door report comes in. 

“Doorman says he saw nothing, sir. We’re talking to the taxi companies in case any of their drivers were in the area, but it was Wednesday night. Not a lot of business around at two in the morning.”

This is where he really needs Hathaway. Robbie’s already got one of the DCs reviewing CCTV, but the cameras near St Giles are focused on the traffic lights, not the memorial. There was another time recently where camera evidence could have been crucial and CCTV was no help; Hathaway started spouting about Google Maps and webcams, and a few hours later had a photo that gave them a lead. 

Blast the man for being so sodding stubborn anyway. Though, Robbie reminds himself, Hathaway would have been on sick leave today. He’d still have been in work tomorrow and could’ve got onto his Google stuff then if they still had no leads.

It’s late in the afternoon when the idea occurs to him. He’s had the PM report from Laura: their old friend the blunt instrument to the back of the head. There were splinters of wood in the victim’s hair and skull, and she’s speculating, on the basis of it being plywood with a glaze applied, that it could have been something like a chair-leg. Fairly cheap mass-produced furniture, at any event, so that’s not much of a lead. And further canvassing of the area, and interviews with the victim’s family and friends, haven’t yielded anything either.

Robbie gathers up his file on the case and heads for his car. Fifteen minutes later, he’s pulling up outside Hathaway’s flat. Time to see if his sergeant’s sense of curiosity and love of showing off to his boss will win over his stubborn self-sacrifice.

Hathaway, as casually dressed as yesterday, looks surprised to see him, but steps back immediately to let him in. “If this visit is prompted by concern about my welfare, sir, I assure you that I have been eating. And staying warm.”

The flat does feel considerably warmer than it did yesterday. “Glad to hear it, though that’s not why I’m here.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again. Not after yesterday.” Hathaway’s gone to the kitchen, and he starts to fill the kettle. “I haven’t changed my mind, sir. Though I may be presuming by making the assumption that you still want me to.”

“Again, not why I’m here.” Hathaway’s getting out mugs and tea-bags, so Robbie goes to the fridge for milk. It’s reasonably well-stocked, he’s pleased to see – in fact, compared to his fridge, Hathaway could open his own supermarket.

“I can’t imagine it’s a social call, sir.” This time Hathaway’s tone is dry, though he doesn’t falter in making the tea. 

Robbie waits until they’re seated before explaining. “You’re intending to resign, an’ that’s your choice. But until you do, you’re still my sergeant, and I need that know-it-all brain of yours.”

Hathaway goes very still. After a pause, he says, “I am on sick leave, sir. And, according to Innocent, off-duty until next Tuesday.”

Robbie doesn’t say a word, but his expression’s designed to remind Hathaway of the direction of the authority structure in their relationship. When he judges that it’s had long enough to sink in, he opens the file.

“Body found here early this morning.” He points to the crime-scene photos. “No CCTV, no witnesses, canvass of the area turned up nothing. No-one knows where the victim was last night. He lives alone, and we haven’t yet found out where he went after leaving work at around seven. At some point, most likely between 1:30 and 2:30 this morning, his body was dumped where you see it.”

“Sir.” James sounds pained. “I really would prefer not to-”

“Sergeant.” Robbie waits until Hathaway subsides. “It’s not too much to ask for you to do your job, I hope?”

He drains his tea, then stands, gathering everything in the file except for the photos and a photocopy of the timeline as currently known. He’s pushed as far as he can; Hathaway is completely entitled to refuse and could complain to Innocent or HR about being put under pressure to work while on sick leave. Bullying, Innocent would probably call it.

“Thanks for the tea. I’ll let meself out.”

 

***

When Robbie opens his email the following morning, there’s a message from Hathaway’s personal account. The subject-line is _Could be useful_ , and there are attachments. 

Robbie wants to cheer, but it’s hardly the most suitable environment – and besides, one email does not a change of heart make. 

He clicks on it. Sent at 23:12, he notes, and the attachments are photos.

_Sir,_

_These two photographs may be of benefit in tracking down, if not the murderer, at least the person or persons who dumped the victim’s body. They’ll need to be enhanced to get any significant information. Since I don’t have access to that software here, I’ve also emailed the photos to Lyons in the tech division. You’ll need to follow up with him._

_I’ve also given him my source for the photos so that he can duplicate access, since that will be needed for evidence purposes if this proves to be a lead._

_JH_

Two steps forward, one step back, Robbie muses; Hathaway has just effectively told him that he won’t be doing his job and contributing to the chain of evidence.

Still, he never imagined that he’d get the result he wanted on the first try, did he? Hathaway may imagine that he’s stubborn, but he’s yet to meet the force of nature that’s Robbie Lewis when he’s determined on getting his own way.

Right, then. Robbie reaches for his phone and calls Lyons in Tech.

 

***

It’s after six when Robbie pulls up outside Hathaway’s flat again, takeaway curry and a four-pack of beer with him. 

Hathaway opens the door and stands, arms folded. Robbie notes that the cut on his face is less livid today, though still evident. “Sir, do you need me to give you directions to your home?”

Robbie has to smother a grin. If Hathaway’s being a smartarse, then he’s definitely getting over his guilt complex. “No, ta. Know me way home. Thought you might be interested in an update on the case, that’s all. Oh, and I was hungry.” He holds up the takeaway bag.

“I apologise if my hospitality has been somewhat lacking.” Hathaway’s gaze slides away, Robbie notes without comment. Clearly his initial reaction was more bravado than recovery. So, still some way to go.

James takes the bag and heads inside, allowing Robbie to enter. “ ‘S all right. You can make up for it now.” Robbie follows him into the kitchen. “Plates?”

“Up there.” Hathaway nods towards a wall cabinet, then busies himself getting serving spoons. 

While they eat, Robbie deliberately doesn’t mention the case, or work at all, instead asking Hathaway how he’s feeling and satisfying himself that the bloke’s experiencing no troubling after-effects from almost burning to death. Eventually, as he’s been hoping, James breaks first.

“Did the photos help at all, sir?”

Robbie deliberately finishes chewing his food. “They did. The techs managed to get a number-plate as well as a make and model. Interviewed the owner this afternoon.”

“And?”

“Swears blind he was home asleep at the time his car was photographed at the scene.”

“Witnesses?” Hathaway asks. “Any chance the car was stolen?”

“He was alone. He’s apparently ‘between relationships’. And, since he was still in possession of it, no, it wasn’t stolen.”

Hathaway takes a sip of beer. “Didn’t even have the common sense to dump it, then.”

“No,” Robbie agrees. 

“Relationship to the victim? Did he know him?”

“Oh, he knew him all right.” Robbie takes a drink of his own beer. “Worked together until a few months ago – and, according to an ex-colleague, the suspect blamed the victim for getting him sacked.” He’s deliberately not mentioning names; Hathaway may still be on the force and bound by all the laws and regulations governing confidentiality, but he’s not on _this_ case. Better safe than sorry, and all that.

Hathaway’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Sounds like a plausible motive.”

“It does.” Robbie nods. “Shame of it is, though, I don’t think he did it.”

“Oh?” Hathaway leans back in his chair. “Gut instinct?”

“Yep. He’s not a killer. Don’t think you’d think he is either. I think he lent someone his car last night, either willingly or under duress, and now he’s too scared to say anything.”

“You have applied the thumbscrews, sir, haven’t you?” Hathaway raises an eyebrow – yet, despite the trademark humour, he’s still not meeting Robbie’s gaze.

“For some strange reason, they’re more effective when you’re sitting behind me glowering,” Robbie comments with a quirk of his eyebrows.

But Hathaway doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he stands and starts to clear the dishes. “Sorry to rush you, sir, but I have rehearsal tonight. Need to get going.”

Robbie allows himself to be ushered out of the flat without protest, pretending not to notice Hathaway’s relieved expression. If his sergeant thinks this is over, then he’s in for a grave disappointment. Robbie still has three more days, and he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve yet.

As long as one of them works, that’s all that matters. 

 

***

He interviews the owner of the car again the next day – since it was clearly his car that was used to dump the victim’s body, they’ve got enough to hold him in custody for twenty-four hours. He leans on the bloke a bit, talking about accessory before and after the fact, the firing that he is known to have blamed the victim for, and the lack of alibi that’ll make a jury definitely suspicious.

“I didn’t kill him!” Watson shouts at last, tears of frustration on his face. “Look, I couldn’t stand the bloke, but I never would’ve... I _didn’t_!”

“Yeah, but you know who might have, don’t you?” Robbie counters, his own tone calm, in complete contrast to Watson.

“They’ll kill me.” Watson’s voice has fallen to a whisper.

“Not if we get to them first.” Robbie gestures to the uniformed constable in the room, who goes out and beckons in DC Anna Henderson, whom he’s had listening in from behind the glass. It’s the breakthrough they’ve been waiting for. Watson spills all, Henderson takes detailed notes, and the two of them go to interview the new suspects. 

It only takes four hours until two men – both of whom also worked with Watson and Fellowes, the victim – are charged with murder. Watson was a reluctant accomplice only in the sense that he knew the other two were going to “teach Fellowes a lesson”, but he claims to have had no idea that they’d kill him. He says that he only loaned them his car because they said Fellowes would recognise theirs, and because he was afraid of them.

Robbie arrests him anyway, for withholding evidence and being an accessory to murder. The jury can decide whether or not they believe him.

He’s actually able to pack up for the day before six, with his initial report on the case emailed to Innocent. Henderson, who’s working the rest of the weekend, can take care of the rest of the paperwork; he’ll review it when he’s back on Tuesday. Two days off, and he’s looking forward to every minute of it.

It’s straight home tonight to watch the footy on telly – the qualifying rounds of the UEFA Cup. He doesn’t go to Hathaway’s. It’s the next phase in his strategy: staying away from the lad. He’ll see how long it takes for that to have an impact.

 

***

Robbie’s in Sainsbury’s at almost four the following afternoon when his work mobile buzzes, indicating a text. He sets his basket down and checks the phone, then allows himself a triumphant smile.

James’s text reads: _Did you apply the thumbscrews again and get a confession?_

 _made an arrest_ , he types back. _you want the details, youre gonna have to come over to mine. i fancy chinese_

The reply comes about four times as fast as Robbie could have typed it. _Maybe I don’t want the details._

Robbie snorts, attracting some odd glances from other shoppers. He ignores them. _you wouldnt have asked if you werent interested. my place at 6_

He doesn’t wait for a response, just puts his phone away and gets on with his shopping, making sure to get some more of that local bitter Hathaway seems to like. Catch more flies with honey and all that... 

 

***

By ten to six, Robbie’s on tenterhooks. For all his confidence earlier, he’s not at all sure that Hathaway’s going to take the bait. Yes, the bloke was curious enough about the case to text – an excellent sign – but he’s been bloody bound and determined on resigning, and although his innate good manners and deference to his boss won’t let him slam the door in Robbie’s face, it’s clear Robbie’s visits weren’t especially welcome.

Not that Robbie cares about that. It’s all part of wearing Hathaway down.

But this is different. This time, he’s asked Mohammed to come to the mountain, and even obedience to his boss might not be enough to achieve that objective.

At five to six, a car pulls up outside, in the rear parking area. A quick glance through the curtains shows that it is James’s Vectra – and he’ll have to return that, of course, if he resigns. 

He waits for the knock before going to the door; he is _not_ going to let Hathaway know that he was watching out for him.

Hathaway holds up the takeaway bag as Robbie opens the door. “I hope you wanted either Szechuan chicken or beef in ginger, sir, because you didn’t specify and that’s what I’ve got.”

“Either’s fine.” He takes the bag from Hathaway, and doesn’t tell him that he wouldn’t have cared if the bloke had brought cardboard. What matters is that he came.

He starts relating the story of Watson’s confession and their arrest of the murderers as they set out the food together – Hathaway did as he was asked, so Robbie’s not going to make him wait. During the telling, Hathaway asks several insightful questions, thus not only proving yet again his skill as a copper, but also that – whatever he might pretend – he’s still interested in his job.

Dinner finished, they clear away together and then, before Hathaway can make his escape – which Robbie suspects he’s hoping to do – Robbie gets another couple of bottles from the fridge and takes the caps off. Hathaway accepts one with a murmur of thanks, and his wry expression shows that he’s well aware of what Robbie was up to.

They’ve only just sat down on the sofa when Hathaway speaks.

“I know you don’t want me to resign, sir. What I still don’t understand is why. After what I did – lying to you, betraying your trust – why would you want me back?”

Robbie studies him for a moment. This isn’t the same Hathaway he confronted in the lad’s flat the day after the fire. He’s not beating his chest or being a martyr. He’s sober and rational, and asking what to him is a genuine question about something he sincerely doesn’t understand.

And he has to acknowledge – to himself, at any rate – that he’s proud of the lad for actually being the one to take the initiative. 

“Told you that the other day, didn’t I? It’s not a resigning matter.”

“I know, sir.” James takes a deep breath and stands, pacing to the other side of the room. “It’s between you and me, you said. I understand _that_. It’s how it should be. What I don’t understand is why _you_ want me back – as your sergeant, I mean. I get why you think I shouldn’t resign from the force, but why wouldn’t you want me transferred to another inspector? Another station, even?”

“Yeah, I could do that,” Robbie agrees. Before James can answer, he adds. “Is that what you want? Would you come back to the force if you didn’t have to work with me?” Could that be it? Is the lad too ashamed of what he’s done to work with him again?

James’s gaze falls to the floor, and it’s several moments before he speaks. “No.” His voice is firm and confident, however, and he looks up again, meeting Robbie’s gaze. “If that were the alternative, I definitely wouldn’t want to return to the force. If I can’t be your sergeant, I don’t want to be a copper.”

“Then what’s the problem, man?” Robbie demands. “I’ve said I want you back. There’s no question of bein’ transferred.” He frowns. “You think I can’t forgive what you did, is that it?” How can the bloke know him so little? Yes, he was angry, and it’ll take some time for James to earn his full trust again – but he’s completely sincere about giving him a second chance. No grudges. 

But then something about the way James winces makes him realise. “No, wait. That’s not it. You can’t let yourself accept my forgiveness, can you?”

Again, James doesn’t attempt to avoid his gaze. “I don’t deserve it, sir.”

“Oh, for–” Robbie begins, then breaks off. Getting irritated’s not going to help. It occurs to him that there’s a lot in religion about sins and forgiveness, but he’s not going to get into an argument with James about religious philosophy. 

Instead, he says, “All right, let’s hear it. What makes you think that? An’ don’t tell me it’s obvious.”

Hathaway runs an agitated hand over his head. “You were right the other day, sir, when you accused me of being a coward. I didn’t want to face what I’d done to Will. That, and the consequences, is something I have to learn to live with. But what’s equally difficult to come to terms with is that I let you down.” He swallows. “I know it must be hard to believe after the last week, but I admire and respect you more than anyone I’ve ever known, and to have betrayed your trust like that...” He shakes his head.

“You can’t forgive yourself, so whether or not I forgive you doesn’t matter,” Robbie concludes aloud. “Stupid sod.” He shakes his head. How on earth is he going to get it through the thick idiot’s head that the best way to make up for a mistake is to learn from it and do better next time?

And then he realises. It’s such an obvious parallel that he has no idea why it didn’t occur to him before. “Did I ever tell you about the time Morse saved my life?”

As he expects, Hathaway’s immediately intrigued. “You didn’t, sir. What happened?”

Robbie smiles faintly. “Long story, so you’d best sit down.” He waits until Hathaway’s seated at the far end of the couch, long legs sprawled in front of him. “It all started when a bloke called Stephen Parnell was killed in prison. He was inside for murdering five people, so some might say he got what was coming to him – but that’s not the point. I’d put him away the previous year, me an’ another DCI, Johnson. Got assigned to him while Morse was away. Anyway, Parnell’s dying words were that he didn’t kill one of the victims, Karen Anderson.”

Robbie pauses to have a drink. “Morse and I were sent to the prison, which is how we got involved. Now, what you need to know is that Morse never believed that Parnell murdered Karen Anderson in the first place. But typical bloody Morse, he never could approach that sort of thing in any kind of reasonable manner. He was all _You can’t see what really happened because you’re all idiots_.”

Hathaway’s lips twitch very faintly. “I had heard that he wasn’t exactly the most diplomatic in his dealings with colleagues.”

“Putting it mildly, that. Anyway, he was his usual self, trampling all over Johnson’s and my conclusions and making clear what he thought about our detective skills. Strange let him run the case at first, but then he started upsetting people and – apparently – not really getting anywhere, so he put Johnson back in charge and assigned me to work with him again. Morse an’ Johnson – hated each other, they did, though I didn’t realise how much at the time. Anyway, cut a long story short, Morse an’ I had a huge row. I accused him of bein’ too much of an arrogant bastard to admit that I’d proved meself a decent detective. Told him that Johnson was bein’ promoted and had offered me an inspector’s job if I moved with him, an’ that I’d said yes.”

That’s got Hathaway staring at him, eyes wide. “I... um... can’t imagine you saying anything of the kind, sir.”

“Oh, yes, you can,” Robbie retorts. “You felt the sharp end of my tongue last week. Anyway–” He gets back on topic. though it’s not that easy. Even though that row with Morse was more than ten years ago now, he still feels shame whenever he remembers the angry, cruel words he’d flung at his boss. Especially since he knew, even at the time, that he was one of the few people who hadn’t generally been dismissive and disrespectful of Morse on a personal level, and that Morse – despite outward appearances – was frequently hurt by what others said about him. “I thought Morse was holding me back in my career – which was what Johnson wanted me to think. What I didn’t know at the time was that for a few years by then Morse had been trying to get Strange to find a DI position within CID for me. He didn’t want to lose me, but he thought it was the right thing to do. But that day – well, we both said some things, but I was the one who really lashed out. And of course Morse was right all along – not only about Parnell but about Johnson.”

“You obviously apologised,” Hathaway says, his voice low, and it’s clear that he’s seeing the parallel.

“Haven’t told you how he saved me life yet.” He goes on to relate the rest of it – Morse, while still angry, giving him an important lead; he following it up and stumbling upon a deeply-disturbed Karen Anderson, a survivor of multiple rapes who’d murdered several men, and then being forced to dig what would have been his own grave. In the meantime, Morse realising that Anderson was alive and very likely a killer, and that he’d gone out to Wytham Woods alone and could be in danger. 

“I was sure I was gonna die,” he continues, his own voice low now. “Was thinking of all the things I’d wanted to do – with Val, with the kids – and knowing I’d never get to say goodbye to them. I knew as soon as I stopped digging that’d be it. Then Morse arrived out of nowhere and drew Anderson’s attention to him instead of me. He could’ve been killed, an’ all for me.”

He pauses; just for a moment, it’s difficult to continue.

“What happened?” Hathaway asks after a bit.

“While Morse was challenging her to kill him, I managed to distract her, which gave Morse a chance to go for the shotgun. In the struggle, it went off and killed her.”

“Ah.” There’s a world of meaning behind that one word, but Robbie knows Hathaway will never voice what he’s thinking.

“He risked his own life for mine, after everything I said to him. An’ you know what? He wouldn’t let me apologise. Wouldn’t hear a word from me. He never breathed a word to Strange either, even though he could’ve had me disciplined for insubordination. I never understood how he was able to let it go – not until this week.” 

This time, Hathaway’s intake of breath is sharp. His mouth opens a couple of times, but no words come out.

Robbie gets up and goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on – they both need a minute or two, he thinks. Well, he does anyway. The memory of the two of them standing by the body of Karen Anderson, half her head blown away, his own shirt covered in Anderson’s husband’s blood, and his head full of the knowledge of how close he’d come to dying – it’s too vivid, even now. He can smell the gunpowder, the freshly-turned earth, the blood, and he can see the horror on Morse’s face, reflecting what he knows was on his own.

He survived, and Morse was generous enough to forgive him – and it’s a lesson for Hathaway, he hopes. It’s worth dredging up the memories for that.

 

***

“But it’s different for you, sir,” Hathaway says as he hands the lad a mug of tea. “You’re liked and respected. There’s not a DS in Oxford CID who wouldn’t be begging to work for you. You could have your pick.”

“Not so different as you think,” Robbie points out as he sits next to his sergeant. “People might not have liked Morse, but they liked his results. I had plenty of DSes and DCs asking me to give them advance notice if I ever decided to move on. Morse didn’t want anyone else – I used to think it was because I was the only one who’d put up with him. I only realised after he died that it wasn’t that at all.” Because Morse liked him – no, more than that, saw him as one of his few friends. But he’ll let Hathaway work that out for himself. “And I don’t want anyone else either.”

Hathaway wraps both hands around his mug, clearly trying to stop himself from fidgeting. Probably needing a smoke – it’s a miracle the lad’s managed to hold out for so long. “I... still don’t know why that is, sir,” he manages after a pause, a mixture of wonder and contrition in his voice as he stares down into his tea. “But I’m grateful – no, honoured that you think so highly of me despite my lies.”

“I keep tellin’ you, James. You’re a good copper. Better than good. Course I don’t want anyone else.” He takes a sip of tea. “Anyway, I’ve said my piece. It’s up to you now. You come in the day after tomorrow ready to get back to work, we’ll say no more about it. But if you still want to resign, I won’t try to talk you out of it.”

Hathaway nods, and this time he looks at Robbie again. “That’s very generous of you.” He drains his tea, then stands. “Thank you for telling me about you and Morse, sir. It was... helpful. Goodnight.”

He’s done all he can, Robbie acknowledges, washing the mugs after Hathaway’s gone. It’s over to James now – and he can only hope the bloke makes the right decision.

 

***

James’s car is in the station car park when Robbie drives in on Tuesday morning.

Not that that means anything. If he’s resigning, he’ll have to return it anyway. Still, it doesn’t stop Robbie from hoping that his efforts worked.

He jogs up the stairs, then deliberately slows to his usual stroll to walk through the squad-room and towards his office.

Through the window, he glimpses a blond head. James is sitting at his computer, apparently focused on the monitor. 

Quietly, Robbie approaches, then stands in the doorway for a moment. James is typing now, occasionally pausing to check something on his desk. A large takeaway coffee, from that posh café on the Broad that the lad likes, is beside him. Robbie glances past James to his own desk – yes, another cardboard cup sits on his desk.

“Morning, Hathaway,” he announces casually, walking in and past James to his workstation.

James twists around to look at him. “Good morning, sir.” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “The final forensic report on the vehicle used in the Fellowes murder is in. I think you’ll find it confirms the identity of the suspects you arrested last week.”

“Glad to hear it,” Robbie replies, barely holding back a grin. Sergeant Hathaway’s back on the job, and a bloody good thing too. “Good decision, by the way,” he adds, dropping into his chair. 

“Sir?” James looks as if he’d like to disappear under his desk.

“The coffee.” Robbie holds up his cup. “Stuff in the canteen’s been terrible the last few days.”

James’s lips turn up faintly at the corners. “I am relieved that I can rescue you from the horrors of bad coffee, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can save me from the horrors of CPS form-filling, too.” He grabs a stack of folders from his desk, gets up and dumps them on James’s desk. “Make a start on these, an’ if you make enough progress by lunchtime I’ll even consider buyin’ you a pint.”

“I will endeavour not to disappoint, sir,” James replies, tone deadpan – but his gaze meets Robbie’s and the gratitude in his eyes is clear.

Robbie pats his sergeant’s shoulder and heads out of the office to update Innocent that all’s right with the world once more.


End file.
